


Consuming Rose

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Series: Reimagining Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A game of hide-and-go-seek and a romp through the rose garden turns into a delightful afternoon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consuming Rose

The beauty flew through the rose garden, her golden brown curls trailing behind her in a wild mass entwined with the fragrant scarlet petals from the flowers that seemed to surge up to embrace and consume her. The roses that she had once believed to be her doom. And they might be yet, she thought with a mischievous smile as she nestled into the leaves; it seemed as if the thorns no longer pricked her, and she felt only the velvety softness of the lush greenery. She was truly their mistress now.

She was hoping that their perfume would mask her scent, even if the silk of her skirts rustled noisily on the still, clear air; perhaps he would be fooled, think it was nothing more than the wind in the eaves. But she knew her Beast better than that. She could hear him even now, carefully following her trail, tracking her; for such a large creature as he, he moved swiftly and with such animal grace, it took her breath away.

She heard him pass behind her, separated by a thicket of rose bush, and had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. She peeked but only caught a fleeting glimpse of his tawny flank and his thick, carelessly swishing tail. The Beast, her Beast—he had given her no other name, and so he was only that. He called her Rose—a rose for a rose, he was found of saying, an unfair deal for his was far fairer than the one he had given away.

She took to flight again, her dainty, slippered feet moving easily and soundlessly in the thick, soft grass. She could hear him behind her now, his paw-like hands and feet creating little tremors as they struck the ground in a run—thump, thump, thump—marking an easy rhythm. Squealing, Rose lifted her skirts, her sprint turning to a dash as she navigated the maze of rose shrubbery. She could easily imagine his pink tongue lolling from his muzzle unselfconsciously, his black eyes twinkling with inevitable success.

She ducked behind a towering tangle of greenery, her chest heaving, her breasts surging up and down against the neckline of her gown, though she struggled to keep quiet, her small, watchful eyes scanning what she could see of the garden. His footsteps had stopped; she could not see or hear him. She held her breath.

And then he was upon her, pouncing from the top of a nearby crumbled stone wall that once marked the barrier of the garden. They tumbled together in the grass, down a small incline, Rose bubbling with laughter, Beast growling softly, triumphantly; he had caught his prey. When they finally came to rest in the soft, aromatic grass, he was, of course, atop her and she was lying on her back, disheveled and giggling. She’d lost a slipper somewhere and her skirts had pushed up to just above her knees, the green gown was bunched up just below her waist and her white petticoats were draped gently against her milky thighs, showing the tops of her stockings.

His silken mane fell around her, and her slender hands instinctively combed through it, majestic and so sleek, it slipped between her fingers. While his countenance was playful, his luminous black eyes, like pools of ink or a precious gem, betrayed him; they held his lust for his prey and the elation of his conquest. Rose’s laughter died away, though infrequent bursts of giggling escaped her as he snuffled at her with the sable nose at the end of his snout, prodding especially at her breasts and, as he moved further down, the tangle of her skirts.

Her eyes drifted closed and a sigh escaped her glistening red lips, so tenderly parted, as his hot breath blew the diaphanous silk of her petticoats, puffing them up and further toward her waist, like soft white clouds. Gooseflesh erupted along her skin when she felt that wet breath on her naked thighs; she let out a gentle, keeping moan and her hands sought out the grass and fisted in it, pulling it up in fragrant fistfuls. This is what Beast smelled of: fresh grass and rose petals; never rank, like an animal, save for that tantalizing scent she caught off of him sometimes, that of musk and sex. Magical.

Her knees jerked upward, her thighs spreading further for him as his tongue, long and rough, took lengthy laps of her creamy skin. He nuzzled her skirts upward and continued his leisurely licking, the tip of that hot, abrasive and wet organ coming so close to her sex. She felt his paws close around her legs, pulling her apart as he loomed over her, his tongue continuing its unhurried meal, moving against the insides of her thighs, lashing around to the bottom curve of her rump. Slowly he stroked her as if he were bathing her, covering her with his sticky, hot saliva. And finally, he found her sex, the length of his tongue resting against her furry cleft, the tip burying into the crack of her backside and tickling the puckered hole there. He continued his tongue wash, tickling the tip of her clitoris and the petals of her labia, peeking coyly from the lips of her womanhood, until he could taste her juices, that sweet, slightly briny nectar, weeping from her and spreading across his tongue and her own thighs as he unrelentingly worked against her flesh.

And then his tongue dipped inside, slipping in easily, licking those silk walls within her, reaching further and further in with long strokes, slurping her clean from the inside out. And finally he drank from her, his muzzle nuzzling her pussy as he noisily lapped at her like a cat at a bowl of cream. She came, writhing beneath him, her wetness spreading over his chops and glistening nose. He pulled back, his tongue lashing at the whiskered lips of his snout.

She watched lethargically through half-lidded eyes as he stood to his full height. His underside was densely furred, lighter than the rest of his tan down; at most times, this hid his sex and he felt no need for the use of pants. But in his arousal, those parts of him became extremely evident. His wooly testicles, each the size of a fist—a fist larger than her own dainty hand could make—bulged between his back legs, just below his lashing tail. The base of his cock, usually hidden in that white fur, protruded now and the rest of it began to unsheathe, pink like newborn flesh, lengthy and thick, angled as if it were seeking her out. Its head seemed to be throbbing, a swollen ruby bulging like a jewel at the top of a scepter.

He turned her over so that she was on hands and knees now, still feeling weak and trembling from her climax; she felt that velvet shaft gliding against her, oiling itself in her wetness, tickling her clit with that engorged head. She was clawing at the ground, begging him to end her agonizing anticipation. He did so, entering her with one hard and swift thrust. She cried out; he was nearly too big for her, had been when they had first mated until she had adjusted herself to him. It was still a tight fit, and she could feel him impaling her almost all the way to her belly inside.

He mounted her like a beast in the wild and began to pump her, his large, strong paws gripping her slender shoulder as he worked his cock into her. His bliss was exquisite, near to excruciating, as her muscles clenched around him and he savagely pushed his way through her tightness. She threw her head back, her hair falling over one shoulder and she felt his tongue lapping the nape of her neck, curling around to her throat, bowing his head so that his tongue could reach deeper, down toward her breasts and the space between them.

Rose’s cries soared into to screams and sobs of rapture, still so sensitive inside from her first climax, she came again, and again before he finished his assault, spurting into her in hot, plentiful surges. She collapsed onto the grass, her pretty face red as a rose and shimmering with perspiration. He settled against her, a leonine patriarch caressing and protecting his mate. One thick, clawed finger toyed at the opening of her sex, watching his own seed dripping from between her dewy labial lips, digging that claw into her, always careful not to hurt her. His tail swished contentedly back and forth.

“My delicate Beauty,” he murmured in his deep, resonating growl.

“My savage Beast,” she replied affectionately but tiredly. “You win again.”


End file.
